Moor This Vessel

my fictitiously non-descript cavity


confusing tales 

void of compasses and skylines

the more told,

the more my cavity fills up

with dried and wilted

reveries and dreamscapes

describing what once 


inside this null space

will the anchor tie itself to me?

pulling me downward

onto the dry, dusty, brightly definitive

land, vast and comprehensible

by the human eye

torrid and palpable

to my expanding pores

the dense anchor 

keeps this body


the enormous star

ignites the harsh contrasts

I see my veins 

through the skin

that hides my dark cavity

pulsating pools of blood


through and through

I begin to speak

small locutions

and I begin to merge

with the anchor

once far from me

gripping me to the earth

now gently invades

giving me density and 

I discern 

the crooked heart saying “yes, oh yes”

the arteries indefinitely feeding my fingertips

with chronicles of touch

the tariffed tongue tasting words unknown

and the pupils empowering my retinae with staggering light 

thus, images are pouring forth

details are painted

life is given

anchor, where do you go?

how strenuous is this process

otherworldy and crude

as I land over and over in the

dry, dusty, brightly definitive



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Filed under beauty, poetry, Psychology, throb

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